


A Secret Soaked

by otherwiseestella



Series: The Things Q Likes [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Blowjobs, Desperation, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Pee, Pee sex, Snark, Successful hacking, Watersports, Wetting, absolute filth, happy feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:32:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otherwiseestella/pseuds/otherwiseestella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Q has a filthy secret. Turns out Bond rather likes it. Likes it so much, in fact, that he absolutely can't get enough...</p><p>In which Bond gets incriminating footage wiped, Q gets fucked to within an inch of his life, everybody needs a bath, and there is lots, and lots, and lots of dirty talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Secret Soaked

It took Q under a minute to go from deep sleep to high alert. He was – there was – the bed was very warm, and a great amount of it seemed to be coming from – 

‘Sleep well?’ Bond was sitting up against the pillows, drinking tea. Q realized he was nuzzled up against him, must have had an arm over one of Bond’s thighs and his face pressed half-against one buttock. He disentangled his arm and looked up at Bond.

‘You’re very warm’, he said, in lieu of anything sensible. 

‘Yours is on the other side.’

Q rolled, spotted the mug. Letter ‘A’. Earl Gray, a crescent of lemon. So he’d been through the fridge, then.

‘Full set?’

‘Mmm’ Q swallowed and smiled, made a half-hitch movement between staying near the tea and slipping over close to Bond again. ‘You can make words in the cupboard with them.’

He sat up suddenly, slipped out of bed and into the living room: it would have got in by now, surely? Nine hours on the dot. Enomis was clever enough, but she’d learned everything from Spartan and – oh good. A nice, clean deletion. The footage played back, timestamp running over without a hitch. Of course it fucking did. He smiled.

Bond was in the doorway. In his underwear. ‘Work?’ he asked.

‘Vivre la Liberte - as if you were never there.’

The agent straightened up, curling his other hand round the mug. Q watched him stepping closer. Right. Chin up. He can go now. Don’t, you twat, look needy.

Bond’s hands were warm from the teacup when they touched Q’s skin. Running one palm over his chest, up over his collar bone, fingertips dancing over the base of his neck just hard enough to raise goose bumps on the back of his neck.

He leaned towards Q until their noses were almost touching: ‘Clever hands, clever brain, brilliant mouth. No idea how fucking sexy you are.’

Q smiled against his cheek, ‘I’d like it very much if…’

‘All the best ideas, Quartermaster,’ Bond pulled him closer, wrapped his hands around the small of his back. 

He absolutely didn’t skip back into the bedroom. A fast walk at most. He slipped back under the duvet, Bond reached the door, pint-glass of water in hand.

Q could speak, he could. Acerbic, witty, quick-fire – all without a problem – but he’d never had to talk about this to anyone before yesterday and it wasn’t –  
‘I haven’t been since last night. Seven hours, coming up eight. I’m already – if I drink that I’ll be so …’ As he spoke, the first little twinges rippled from his bladder, giving him shivery thrills that rose up through him.

 

Bond slipped into bed beside him, handed him the glass and ran one hand over his stomach, pressing gently.

‘You’ll be so full, Q. Bladder tight and hard so I can feel it.’

Q wriggled closer and Bond turned to meet him, hands slipping down his warm back, teasing fingers running over it, lifting him until Q straddled his thighs, flush together.

They began to kiss, Bond’s mouth hot and hungry against Q’s. He bit, nibbled, licked at the agent’s lips shyly, teasing him with flickers of his tongue, letting Bond chase it back into his mouth. He wanted him too, desperately, but he’d sensed Bond’s enthusiasm for his timidity the previous evening. It thrilled him, the game of it, diminishing responsibility and letting Bond care for him.

He pulled away, worrying at his lower lip, and cast his eyes down, glancing up at Bond through his eyelashes. He slipped his left hand into the warm circle their crotches made, and fluttered his fingers lightly over Bond’s half-hard cock.

‘Are you going to…?’ He asked, letting his voice stay hesitant. He felt Bond’s cock twitch.

‘Am I going to what, little one?’ Bond asked, his voice lower than it had been.

‘Don’t want to say. Naughty,’ Q dipped his head. He could feel his heartbeat in his fingertips. They hadn’t really talked about this, just skirted round it. He felt almost sick with it.

Bond regarded the man in his lap for a fraction of a second. It was as if he had emerged, fully formed, from the most depraved vaults of his imagination.

‘You have to say, or I can’t do it. Come on.’ 

Q’s voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Are you going to’ – he stroked his fingers lightly over Bond’s cock again, ‘fuck me until I have an accident?’

Bond petted the back of Q’s neck, which was warm and pink with the creep of his blush. He could see Q’s cock, hard through the thin cotton of his pajamas, and a little wet spot had begun to form.

Q hoped he’d understand. Keep playing along, not ask questions. He seemed to like it, and he seemed to know just how to…

‘Come on now. Properly. Say it like I taught you or I won’t do it.’

That was it. He was going to cum in his pants like a teenager. No question. He gulped a breath to steady himself, rocked his thighs up so that their cocks ghosted against each other.

‘Please will you… please will you put your cock inside me? Please will you open me up and – oh, please will you fuck me until I piss all over the bed?’ He let out a noise that was half breath, half sob, and ground his cock down again, desperate for friction.

Bond held him, hands round his firm little arse, desperate to bring them closer, impossibly closer, pushing Q’s thighs as wide as they would go..

Q was panting, hands scrabbling on Bond’s shoulders as if he was trying to pull them into one entity. It was the taboo of it, the forbidenness, the sense of trust required to surrender the idea.

As soon as Q said it, he felt regret through the sharp heat of arousal, wished he hadn’t. Bond had suggested it but he shouldn’t have to deal with… it wasn’t fair to inflict…

The agent leant to him, brushed the hair that fell over his ear. When he spoke, Q’s ear was filled with the wrecked voice – all smirk and swagger:

‘Worried I’ll tell psych? I understand, Q. More than that, I can’t get enough of you.. So keep running that dirty little mouth of yours, and I’ll fuck you so hard you can’t do anything but scream. Pretty, dirty boy.’

With that he manhandled Q, all floppy limbs and little wondering moans, onto his back and stripped off his pajamas. 

Q wriggled, fingers finding the edge of Bond’s boxers and pulling them down. Then he snaked his fingers down Bond’s arm, wrapping them round his wrist and pulling a hand to his kiss-red mouth. He traced over the pads with his tongue, drawing a sharp gasp from the agent, and then he guided them inside. 

The fullness was wonderful, overwhelming, and he experimented with different strengths of suction, running his tongue over Bond’s fingers as if they were his cock. The agent was gazing at him, breathing heavily, pupils dilated enough that Q could barely see blue.

‘Fuck, your mouth.’ Bond pushed his fingers in further, hesitant until Q swallowed round them, breathing out of his nose to calm his gag reflex. Bond lowered his head until his could suck and bite at Q’s neck, kissing the join where his fingers disappeared between the spit-slick lips and nipping at his collarbones. Underneath him, Q writhed, forcing his hips up with the little leverage he had.

He withdrew his fingers, forcing Q’s thighs wide with his other hand and rubbing the wet fingers, without preamble, in a slippery circle over his hole.

Q turned his head, burying his face in the pillow, ‘Oh’, he hissed. ‘oh yes, fuck, please.’

‘Do you like that, hmm? Want my wet fingers in your little hole?’

Q’s moan sent a jolt so strong through Bond that he visibly trembled, shaking his head to regain his composure.

Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me. Q wasn’t sure if the begging was in his head any more. He wanted Bond’s fingers inside him, opening him up, making him vulnerable. He wanted… God. He wanted to go. He’d been ignoring his bladder, too caught up in the heat of Bond’s body but there it was, the fullness beginning to spike, the pressure beginning its constant, almost painful throb against his sphincter, sending messages to his brain that he needed to go, now.

He felt something cool against his hole, slippery soothing. Bond’s fingers slick with lube, broad and infuriatingly light. He squirmed and let his opening flutter against Bond’s fingers. At the same time, an incredible heat over his cock - Bond’s mouth, tongue darting over the tip of him, teasing mercilessly.

 

‘I need to… oh I need to…’

The exquisite hardness of his cock, the pulse of arousal through him, loud in his ears and finally, finally Bond slipped a finger into him, blunt and wet, the slight sting worth it for the crook of pleasure he felt as Bond slid the pad of his finger inside him, searching, and bent it up unerringly to reach…

It was like a bolt of electricity running through him and he probably flailed his arms. Bond’s free hand was on his chest to stop him bucking into his mouth but Christ it felt like flying and no: not allowed to cum, not allowed to buck up into James’ mouth, not allowed to press down using the hand that was cradling the back of James’ head. If he came, he’d start to go, and wouldn’t be able to stop.

Bond pulled off him suddenly, as if he could tell, and Q must have been weeping precum because Bond’s mouth was slick with it. He could taste himself when he kissed him, Bond’s fingers still moving inside him, pulling short, sharp breaths out of him as they loosened him up.

‘Close, aren’t you, Q?’ He raised an eyebrow. Q just wanted contact, insinuated himself along the length of Bond on the bed, pressing chest to chest, rubbing the sides of his face along James’ shoulder, his underarm. He breathed in, made a little desperate mewling noise, as he smelt James’ arousal, musk, a slight sheen of sweat.

Bond moved slightly, shifted his shoulder further away.

‘Pheromones, James,’ Q managed, rubbing himself against him, desperate, half-out of his mind with the need for more contact.

Bond stilled him, wound one hand into Q’s hair and petted at it, pulled gently until the electric sensation had both soothed and teased him half-into fits. He spoke quietly.

‘First time it happened I was, what, seventeen? Been in the Navy a year, just. Christ she was pretty, squirming on the bed below me. ‘d no idea she needed to go. Then we started fucking’, he ran his hands over Q’s belly, pressing down over his bladder, ‘and when she came, she caught my eye, and then she just started pissing herself. All over the bed, my bollocks. Came like a train. Next time I had her do it over my chest.’

 

He’d added another finger as he’d spoken. Crooking up inside Q. He could feel the fingers rub along his slick insides; the indirect pressure on his bladder sending fizzing sparks of arousal through him.

‘More, more, now, please…’

‘Are you ready, little one? Ready to have my cock fill you up now?’

‘Mmmm.’ Q was wriggling and frantic, hands trying to trace Bond’s lips and run his fingers down his back all at once. The resulting movement agitated his bladder. His cock was leaking now, copious precum that held a line to his stomach, glistening and lewd. But it wanted to piss. Every nerve strained toward it, toward release of some sort, mess of some sort.

Bond took his time, squeezing the base of his prick hard. Q wanted to complain, to say he didn’t care if Bond lasted, he just wanted him in, now, before he let go early and messed the bed.

Then he was there, lifting Q’s legs and rubbing his cock over his opening. 

‘Gorgeous boy. Wanted my cock in you for the longest time. Want to fuck you so badly. Christ, Q, the things you do to me.’

‘James,’ Q was so desperate now, squirming back on Bond’s cock. ‘James, I’m going to wet the bed, fuck, it’s going to happen, please.’

Bond’s breath hitched, and he slid forward slowly. Q was hot, almost feverish with exertion. He adored the feeling of being breached, of being filled, and it felt – fuck it felt good, Bond’s beautiful thick cock opening him, filling him, forcing out….

Bond bottomed out, paused. Revelling in the glorious fullness, Q opened his eyes and met Bond’s, blown with lust, heavy-lidded and … Christ… more wanton than Q had ever seen him.

 

‘Q…. dirty boy, I can feel you twitching round me… you’re going to go, aren’t you? And you can’t even help it. You’re going to piss for me, little slut, and I am going to fuck you until you forget your name… so tight, Q, so good, Jesus.’

And as he started to move, as his strokes, short and deep and hard, rocketed through Q’s body, he shivered uncontrollably, trapped between the impulse to be naughty and the age-old desire not to be bad, not to wet the bed, not to misbehave.

He reached down to stroke his cock, just once, and then the syrupy desperation focused into a single point of painful ecstasy, and without even meaning to….

‘James’, he squeaked, undignified and nervous, ‘James…’ His cock twitched and then he felt it: hot and fast and urgent urgent urgent…. he was pissing all over his tummy.

The joy of it, the world narrowing down to the point of release, made his eyes roll back, made him see stars.

The agent leant down, pressing his body against Q’s trapping his cock, letting the hot stream run down over their bollocks, over the join were Q’s body met Bond’s. The room was quiet except for the hissing stream and the harsh panting as Bond kept fucking him, hard.

He was talking nonsense, filthy nonsense as he touched his fingertip against the end of Q’s cock, feeling the hot stream gush out, over his belly, onto the sheets:

‘Filthy wet boy, pissing the bed… fuck, Q, fuck you feel so good, piss all over me, go on, you feel so…’

He was pissing so hard he thought he might pass out. His blood was fizzy with the naughtiness, the taboo of it.

He was still hard. He’d never pissed through an erection properly; it felt strange, the potency of his arousal and the desperation of his bladder.

Bond was grazing his prostate, and infuriating heat that radiated up through him, the strokes long and deep, and then – oh fucking Christ – he sped up, harsh breaths dissolving into low grunts of effort as he fucked him hard, properly. He could feel Bond’s cock growing stiffer inside him, feel that…

‘Q, fuck, Q, I’m going to…’

Q could feel his own pleasure building, although he was still pissing. One, two, three and then Bond was there, pulsing inside him, repeating his name like a filthy prayer.

 

As he shifted on the bed to pull out. Q realised they were lying in a puddle of his mess, his dirtiness that had soaked the sheet, a huge stain. His stream was dwindling, arousal becoming more urgent, and he whined when Bond pulled out, clenching to try to keep him inside.

Bond grinned, kissed him. ‘Greedy’. He slipped two fingers back in.

‘You’re full of me’, James said, his voice a whisper in Q’s ear.

‘Full of my cum, fuck, I can feel it.’ His fingers made a slurping, dragging sound as he moved them.

‘And all covered in your piss, too. Filthy, Q, I’ve never met anyone who… you want to come, baby? You want to cum whilst I fuck your filthy arse with my fingers? I can see my cum running out of you, slut.’

He knew he was whimpering, wriggling in a puddle of his own pee and feeling Bond’s cum pooling down his thighs.

Then the agent began to touch him, his fist tight and his strokes hard, intentional: no messing around.

The pleasure coiled in his belly.

‘Go on… let it go for me, dirty boy, let it go…’

And then he did. Fuck he did. He felt his spend hit his chin; the thick ropes of it pulsing up his torso as Bond fingered him through it. It seemed to go on forever, pulse after pulse of pleasure. The world went black, he saw stars, and he was flying…

And then strong arms were wrapping round his fucked-out body, gathering him up and –

‘Are you carrying me?’

‘Shush, Q. You need a bath, baby. We both do.’

‘You’re carrying me! I’m your Quartermaster, and….’

‘And you just dripped cum on the bathmat. You’re filthy, and gorgeous, and we’re going to get clean and then sleep, aren’t we?’

He was exhausted. He’d never, in all his life, been so bad, let go so completely, been so totally consumed by someone else’s lust. All his defences were down, and he liked this, the sound of the bathwater and Bond’s strong embrace.

‘You’ll stay?’

‘Long as you want me.’

‘And you like…’

‘You? God, for a genius…’

Q hid his face in Bond’s neck.

‘Yes. I like you. More than. So much more than, that I’m minded to have a suitcase sent over.’

‘Space in my wardrobe if you want it, Mr.’

‘Hmm. I think I do. Especially when I accidentally burn all your clothes to keep you naked forever.’

‘Right. Because that won’t affect staff morale at all.’

He lowered Q into the bath and followed, shutting off the taps and drawing Q into his lap.

‘Depends whose morale you’re worried about, Quartermaster.’

And as he began to sponge him clean, Q let out a contented little whimper, and fell fast asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> And this concludes this trio! Apologies for lateness, I hope you enjoy.
> 
> *Please don't read, if you don't like pee!*
> 
> (And I hate saying this, but please leave Kudos if you enjoyed it... it really, genuinely makes my day.)


End file.
